


Broken Marionette

by shootingstarcipher



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:53:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7611610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shootingstarcipher/pseuds/shootingstarcipher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Dipper didn’t feel normal - as if he wasn’t human, or at least not as human as everybody else.<br/>Sometimes Bill contemplated telling him why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hate

Ford had been trying to get the journal back from him for weeks. He was always coming up with different excuses, like he needed to amend some of the pages in it or he needed to remind himself of one or two of the creatures he’d written about. Dipper considered the latter to be the poorest excuse he’d given him, seeing as he had copies of all three journals in the basement. Every day, he asked for it to be given back to him, each time offering a new reason for why he needed it. Initially, Dipper’s response was to hand it over immediately, but then he considered the possibilities and decided against it.

Firstly, his uncle seemed uncharacteristically flustered and as time went on, he grew more and more anxious to get his hands on the journal - not unlike a certain demon who Dipper was sure would do anything, no matter how vicious or violent, to obtain the journals. There was always the possibility of Bill Cipher taking over his uncle’s body in order to convince him to hand over the journal - and the demon wasn’t stupid enough to try and take it from him by force, knowing his identity would be discovered - so he couldn’t be careful enough around him. Of course, Bill could just as easily take over his sister’s or Grunkle Stan’s body - or even someone else’s - in order to get to him.

He thought it unlikely that Bill would try to possess him again, considering the fact that he was even more wary around the demon as he had been before there last encounter, during which his sleep-deprived body had been stolen and practically mutilated - needless to say, he wasn’t exactly eager to repeat the experience.

He now slept with the journal tucked under his arm, and hopefully he’d awaken if someone tried to take it from him during the night. 

But one night he couldn’t sleep. He whispered Mabel’s name - with enough volume for her to hear if she’d been awake - and when he was greeted only with silence he pushed back his blanket and sat up straight, gripping the journal tightly with both hands. The light was switched off and turning it back on would probably have woken Mabel up, so instead he took out his torch and held it over the journal, opening it up and flicking through its pages.

He’d read the journal from cover to cover countless times already, or so he thought, but he was always prepared to read it all again. This time, however, he noticed something he hadn’t seen before. At the very back of the book, on the inside cover, was a flap of yellowed paper which he immediately recognised as the remains of a page that had been torn out. Although he couldn’t read the information that it had once held, the title was still there.

“Living Marionettes.”

Dipper had never come across anything like that in the journal before. It was as if someone - Ford, maybe, though he couldn’t think why - hadn’t wanted him to find it.

In reality, the opposite was true.

Bill was a being he hated relentlessly - for what he’d done to Ford, for whom he cared very much, in the past and what he would likely do to Mabel, who he loved even more - but sometimes his hatred of him was unreasonable. In relation to Ford’s connection with the demon, Dipper only knew half the story - Ford’s side. And of course he was inclined to believe his uncle, especially over megalomaniac like Bill Cipher. Still, some would have said he was jumping the gun, leaping to conclusions without substantial foundations. Bill himself was one of them.

He watched, amused, as the child desperately ran through every possible explanation he could think of for the torn page at the back of journal number three and its title: “Living Marionettes.” It was entertaining, not because of how impatient the child was with his rushed theories or because of his hunger to explain the unknown, but because of how fitting it was. Because his own personal doll was finally starting to realise who he was, what made him so different from everyone else. Because after years and years of sitting back and watching the tormented child struggle to explain himself - resulting in him developing a remarkable interest in other things no-one could explain - he would soon be done waiting.

As far as Dipper was concerned, Bill had nothing to do with the ripped-out page at the back of the book. In his mind, it had more to do with Ford than anyone else - he was the author, after all. The meaning of the term expressed in the title was obvious - marionettes, or puppets, that were alive. That was not what interested him. What interested him was the fact that someone must have been trying to keep it from him - not very well though, seeing as the title was still there. If Ford had been trying to hide it from him, it would explain why he was so anxious to get the book away from him, but he wasn’t the sort of person to make such an obvious mistake, so Dipper deduced there must have been more to it.

Growing tired, he reluctantly turned off his torch, put it away and lay back down with the journal tucked under his right arm and the blanket pulled over him again. He’d mention something about the marionettes to Mabel in the morning, and maybe even Ford. It was the only way to figure it out. He had to include Mabel in it. They did everything together, and the last time he’d done something on his own - like make a deal with a demon - it hadn’t exactly turned out well for anyone.

He may have been ready to take a break from dealing with demons, but the one he hated in particular wasn’t done with him yet. This time they were on the roof of the Mystery Shack (as they had been the night his body was stolen from him) and Bill was sat with his back to him, his legs dangling over the edge of the roof.

“You’re a pretty special kid. You know that, Pine Tree?” He said it without turning to look at him. Odd, but not intriguing enough to make Dipper want to be around him. He rolled his eyes at the demon and took a few tentative steps backwards, nearing the door. “I don’t know where you think you’re going in such a hurry, kid.” Behind him, the door disappeared, melting into the floor. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it wasn’t any less frightening.

While he was distracted by the door, Bill moved from his position and appeared in front of him, his single eye glowing red in momentary fury. “I’m just here to talk, Pine Tree, but if you want don’t feel like co-operating…” He trailed off, nonchalantly studying his imaginary fingernails. “Well, I’m sure I can think of some kind of horrific torture for you to endure. I didn’t imagine you’d be up for that, though,” he joked. Dipper didn’t laugh. He didn’t even crack a smile. Bill wasn’t surprised, but he was disappointed. 

“As I was saying… You’re special, different, unique. You’ve figured that out by now, but do you know why?”

Dipper considered his question carefully. It got to him; he hated it when Bill got to him. He’d always been different. Smarter, more studious, more determined and ambitious. But more than that… Strange things happened to him. He’d found the journal. Bill had gone for him. And even before they’d come to Gravity Falls, strange things he couldn’t explain had been happening to him, like the time he thought he saw a dragon out the corner of his eye but nobody had believed him, or the time he accidentally set fire to the dining table at home in spite of having no matches or lighter to start a fire with.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t come up with anything to say and - being able to read his mind - Bill knew exactly why. The demon left his dream quickly. He’d served his purpose, and as the dream morphed into another one without him in it, the demon moved on to haunt another person’s nightmares, leaving him with one final phrase. 

“There’s a reason for it, kid. There’s always a reason.”


	2. Patience

Unfortunately, Mabel hadn’t heard of a “living marionette” before. That wasn’t surprising, but he couldn’t help feeling dejected. That meant his only option was Ford - he certainly wouldn’t be asking Bill - and yet he had very little faith in his uncle’s willingness to explain it to him. Even if it hadn’t seemed like someone was trying to hide the information from him, Stan had, after all, made his brother promise not to involve him in his pursuit of the anomalies hidden within Gravity Falls.

He’d shown his sister the torn page at the back of journal number three and mentioned his dream involving Bill to her, but she’d been annoyingly dismissive of the idea that either was important. And when he’d told her he suspected there may be a possibility that the two were connected, she simply told him to forget about it and relax. Although he acknowledged that sometimes he became obsessed with reading the journal and uncovering its secrets, he felt that this was something that was undeniably intriguing and couldn’t understand why his twin didn’t feel the same way.

Shoving the journal into his backpack - which is where he always kept it whenever he was leaving the Mystery Shack - he scrambled to his feet and followed his sister to the front door, where Wendy and her friends were waiting for him. They were going exploring. Normally that would be a good thing, and in a way it was (it would certainly take his mind off the demon and the alleged living puppets) but all he really wanted at the time was to be left alone with his thoughts - or maybe with Mabel, so they could discuss things.

In usual circumstances, he would walk side by side with Wendy and his sister while the rest of the teenager’s friends followed behind them. This time, however, he stayed at the back of the group, trailing after them with much less enthusiasm that usual. Mabel knew something was wrong; so did Wendy. He could hear them speaking about it, but the others seemed to be oblivious.

Mabel was asking Wendy if she’d noticed anything different about Dipper. He winced when he heard her say that, because he had always been different - he’d just been hoping Wendy hadn’t realised. When people realised how different he was, they always isolated him. That was why he’d always been so glad to have Mabel around. She accepted him. He still felt the need to have his own friends - especially when Mabel had her own, like Candy and Grenda - but at least he didn’t feel lonely knowing his sister would always be there for him if he needed her.

“He seems quieter than usual,” Wendy replied, glancing back at him over her shoulder. He kept his head down, avoiding her gaze. “And slower,” she added.

That’s when Mabel told her about the marionettes. She asked Wendy if she’d ever heard of them, and when she shook her head she sighed and told the teenager she thought her brother had been spending too much time reading the journal. Wendy agreed with her but they spoke no more of the subject as she stopped in her tracks and turned to face the rest of her friends - including Dipper.

Behind her was a tree - unsurprising since they were in a forest - but it was much taller than any of the others and seemed to hold some sort of significance to the redhead. She pointed her thumb at the tree, prompting everyone to gaze up at it. “That right there,” she said, oddly proudly, “is the tallest tree in the entire town. I used to climb it as a kid.” She grinned at them, beaming with pride. “But the point is: there’s something at the top of it… and I need it. I put it there when I was a kid. My first hat.” She tipped her current hat in Dipper’s direction as she spoke. “I only realised the other day what I’d done with it, and I can’t climb up to get it now.” She gestured to her left ankle, which she’d injured a couple of days previously by jumping off the roof of the Mystery Shack (she’d been walking with a limp ever since).

Robbie immediately stepped forward, declaring that he would be the one to climb up and retrieve the hat for her. Dipper snorted in disgust. Mabel rolled her eyes at the both of them. Wendy didn’t look impressed, and she cast her gaze over the rest of the group, secretly hoping that someone else - preferably other than Dipper, who would likely ignite the angry side of Robbie she’d been trying to avoid - would volunteer to climb the tree.

Dipper stayed quiet. He wanted nothing more than to best his rival in this particular challenge, but he doubted Robbie would get very far with it. He was right. He’d barely climbed a tenth of the tree’s height when he yelped and crashed to the ground, unhurt but wailing as if he’d broken every bone in his body.

Nobody else made a move towards the tree.

Sighing, Wendy rolled her eyes, clearly disappointed in her friends - though she could tell Dipper was relieved that Robbie had failed. “Really? Nobody else? I’ll just have to do it myself then.”

Unwilling to let her try to climb the tree with her injured ankle, Dipper ran forward and pushed his way through the crowd, only stopping once he’d reached the foot of the tree. He then proceeded to take hold of two low-hanging branches and pull himself up. He surprised himself - and everyone else - with how far he managed to climb. He’d just about reached the halfway mark when everything went wrong.

It started when he missed his footing, and then he found himself suspended in the air, his one-handed grip on the branch above him being the only thing keeping him from falling, and ended when he met the same fate as Robbie - loosening his grip and hurtling towards the earth below. However, unlike Robbie, he wasn’t as fortunate as to get away unscathed. He landed awkwardly, his arm sticking out at an unnatural angle. Excruciating pain seared through his body, shooting up his right arm from his wrist to his shoulder.

He groaned, half in pain and half in frustration with himself for not being able to do what he’d set out to do, and let his eyes close, powerless to keep them open. He felt a hand coil around each of his ankles and another two on his back, and then he was being lifted up off the stony, grassy ground and carried elsewhere. If he’d had the strength to, he would have thanked whoever was helping him. He assumed Wendy was one of them - though with her injured ankle he guessed she’d struggle - and that the other one was anyone but Robbie. He doubted Mabel had the strength, but he trusted that she’d be able to do anything she put her mind to; he often told her that (especially when Pacifica Northwest was putting her down).

He heard voices. Someone - one of Wendy’s other friends - was telling the others to hurry up. Apparently the Mystery Shack was in view. He dreaded to think how Stan would react, especially if they interrupted him while he was showing a fresh crowd of tourists around the establishment, but with the pain in his arm refusing to subside, his great uncle was the least of his worries.

When they reached the Mystery Shack, whoever was carrying him set him down on the grass. Mabel assured him everything would be alright, but he could hear the tremble in her voice and knew she could do little more than hope she was right. He told himself that as long as he received medical attention, he’d been fine. His injury was certainly painful but he saw reason for it to be life-threatening.

A cluster of footsteps faded away from him, but he got the feeling he wasn’t alone. He was right. Mabel was still kneeling by his side while everyone else - led by Wendy - hurried into the Mystery Shack to deliver the news to Stan. But that wasn’t all. There was someone else. Someone who was always watching…

A mere few seconds after he lost consciousness and found himself in a world shrouded in darkness, a flash of golden light massacred the shadows and illuminated the world to reveal… even more shadows. “You have a pretty boring imagination, Pine Tree,” Bill commented, turning from side to side to examine his surroundings. “Let’s change that.” He raised a hand, about to click his fingers, when he caught sight of the pained look on Dipper’s face. Even here, in the mindscape, as far away from reality as he could possibly get, the agony failed to dwindle. “Well, now I know where to start.”

Dipper frowned at him, irritated by the unbearable combination of the tormenting pain in his right arm and the exasperating, worrying presence of the demon. The expression on his face only made Bill laugh, but it wasn’t his usual, deranged cackle. He almost sounded concerned.

“Look, kid, I’ll teach you how to block it out. The pain, I mean,” Bill added, his laughter fading. Dipper narrowed his eyes at him in suspicion, but only for a moment - the pain distracted him from his uncertainties almost immediately - and he devoted himself to following the demon’s advice. “All you have to do is concentrate. Focus on me, kid. The pain will fade away if you ignore it.”

If only it was that simple. The way he said it, it was as if he thought that simply by focusing on him, every single other problem in the child’s life would vanish into thin air. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case. He stared into Bill’s one, glowing eye and tried hard to push out any other thoughts. But the pain was too strong for him to block out and he soon found himself forgetting about the demon entirely and filling his mind with thoughts of the unbearable agony shooting through his arm. 

When he saw that the child wasn’t getting anywhere by himself, Bill changed his mind about telling him to do it alone. “Let me into your mind and I’ll do it for you.”

Dipper instinctively growled at the pain and glared up at Bill, sensing he was close to entering a trap. What if Bill was the one who was causing the pain - just to get into his mind? He wouldn’t have put it passed him. “I’m not so sure about that,” he said through gritted teeth. Something else that had been bothering him ever since the demon appeared was how strange it was that Bill was giving him any thought at all. “Why do you care anyway?” he asked suspiciously, scanning the demon for any sign of insincerity.

“Oh, I care about you, Pine Tree, but for reasons you wouldn’t even dream of.” Evading the question was just like Bill, but there was still something different about him… something less malicious than usual. And the question still remained: why did he care at all?

At least the mystery and the questions and the conversation were distracting him from the pain, and so Dipper didn’t mind the demon’s presence anymore - not so much, anyway.

“You look better already,” Bill commented, his eye gleaming - with what, Dipper couldn’t decipher. “Don’t worry, kid. You’ll be just fine.” His gaze hardened for a moment, and then he growled “I’ll make sure of it.” His sudden shifts in mood weren’t surprising - they were to be expected - but his words were what bothered Dipper, because unless he was somehow part of the demon’s latest evil scheme, Bill Cipher had no reason at all to ensure his safety.

“No matter what you say,” Dipper retorted. “I’m never going to believe you actually like me. If you did, you wouldn’t have stolen my body like you did before.” Regardless of what he was saying, he couldn’t help feeling an odd sense of security around the demon despite his suspicions.

“Trust me, Pine Tree. When you learn to see the world the way I do, you’ll understand.” He carried on before the child had the opportunity to argue back. “Just be patient - I have been - and you’ll understand everything. Oh, and you’ll find out why you feel so different, too. Patience,” he repeated, and reached down with one hand to pat Dipper’s shoulder.  
Dipper bared his teeth at him in annoyance, but did nothing to get away from him.

He was almost sad to see the demon leave. At first that was because he was beginning to realise that being with Bill had made everything feel better even when he’d thought it was hopeless, but then his eyes opened and he regained consciousness, the pain in his arm hitting him full force again.

Grunkle Stan was there. He was the first person he set eyes on. Ford was there too; he knew because he could hear his voice. Wendy was telling him they needed to get him to hospital, and Ford’s reply was the last thing he expected to hear: “No, leave him here. He’ll be fine without it.”


	3. Decay

He blacked out. This time, Bill stayed away from him. And when he regained consciousness, he was alone. The first thing he saw was the grey ceiling looming above him, and he realised he couldn’t have been in hospital since he was lying on something hard like a concrete slab. The pain in his arm was still there, but it was diminishing. Ignoring the short jab of pain he felt as he moved, he sat up and examined his surroundings, recognising it immediately.

He was in the basement. This was where Ford resided (he barely came out of it). The portal he’d created with Bill Cipher’s guidance stood half-demolished across the room from him. The room was filled with boxes of spare mechanical parts and books and instruction manuals, but there was nothing which gave him any explanation of why he was down there and not at the hospital like someone with a broken arm should have been.

Pushing through the pain, he forced himself to stand up and find someone - anyone - but immediately remembered Ford’s refusal to let Wendy and her friends take him to hospital, and he wondered whether his uncle was really someone he wanted to see at that moment in time. As it turned out, he didn’t have a choice.

Ford appeared in the doorway, his shadow blocking out the beam of light cast by the flickering bulb above. He had a stern look on his face and a thin booklet in his hand. Turning to face him, he began to approach the twelve year old child, causing a feeling of dread to wash over him. With every step his uncle took, the feeling intensified and he could feel fearful beads of sweat gathering on the back of his neck. He’d never been nervous around his uncle before and it was something he’d never expected to happen. But he was acting strangely and it didn’t seem like it would prove to be in favour of his wellbeing. How could refusing to allow a child to receive medical attention when they needed it not be detrimental to their health?

To Dipper’s surprise, Ford walked straight passed him and started reading through the booklet he held in his hands, though he turned away from him so he couldn’t see the booklet. “G- Great Uncle Ford?” he stammered, taking a few shaky footsteps towards him.

Snapping the booklet shut, Ford turned around and looked him square in the eye. “Your arm should be fine,” he said gruffly, slipping the booklet into his pocket and pretending it didn’t exist. “It’s broken but that shouldn’t matter. Not for you,” he added darkly. His gaze quickly turned into a glower and Dipper backed away from him, half in fear and half in confusion. Ford shook his head and sighed, lowering his gaze. “Just go, Dipper. I thought I could help you but” - he patted his jacket pocket mournfully - “I suppose I can’t.”

Dipper turned and left, but as he walked through the doorway he heard him mutter a gentle “this is out of my hands now” under his breath.

As he slinked off upstairs, retiring to his room (the attic), he ignored Grunkle Stan’s uncharacteristic concerns for him - having barely heard them - and focused only on what Ford had said. What was out of his hands? And what was so important about that booklet that he couldn’t read it? He thought - he hoped - it was all just a bad dream. He’d wake up at any second and find himself being properly treated in hospital; or better yet, his arm wouldn’t be broken at all. Maybe he’d hit his head during the fall and instead of breaking his arm, had been knocked unconscious for a few hours. It didn’t seem likely, considering how real everything felt, but that didn’t make it untrue.

Mabel caught sight of him on his way up to the attic and followed him like an overexcited puppy chasing after its master and fussed over him when he finally stopped. She was just glad to see him awake and moving about. “I was surprised by what Grunkle Ford said,” she told him, and he couldn’t help agreeing with her. “But I guess he managed to fix you up himself.” All he could do was groan in response - and in pain - as he lay back on his bed and closed his eyes, hoping to get some sleep.

His mind was wide awake, however, and refused to let him sleep. In a strange way, he wished Bill was still with him. He’d seemed a lot more concerned about him than Ford had, and much more comforting too - as odd as that was. It was suspicious, but he didn’t feel like investigating his hunches at the time. He was far too tired and in too much pain to go around trying to solve a mystery that might have been in his head the whole time.

It felt like his mind was decaying, disintegrating a bit more with every minute that passed and there was nothing he could do about it. It felt like his body was decaying too, with his arm gradually becoming increasingly numb. Although it meant it was much less painful than it had been initially, the numbness was scaring him. By the time he decided to get up again, he couldn’t feel his right arm at all.

A voice at the back of his mind - that sounded an awful lot like Bill Cipher - told him he needed to get his hands on the booklet Ford had put in his jacket pocket. That’s what convinced him to get out of bed. Mabel tried to stop him, insisting that he needed to rest, but he managed to distract her by asking if anyone had climbed the tree to get Wendy’s hat back down. As it turned out, Wendy had done it herself - with an injured ankle. “That’s what makes her so cool,” he commented and Mabel beamed at him in agreement.

“That reminds me,” she started, side-stepping towards her backpack on the floor and bending down to take something out of it. “We found this inside the hat. No idea who put it there. My money’s on a monster of some kind.” He hoped she was right. She passed him a thin, flimsy piece of yellowed paper, and on it - in red ink - a series of letters were written in what seemed like a random order. It didn’t make sense. “I think it’s some sort of alien language,” his sister suggested - an idea which he quickly dismissed.

“No,” he murmured, studying the message closely. “It must be in code.”

“How would you know that?” his sister asked, with awe and a hint of jealousy in her voice. He didn’t know. He couldn’t answer because he didn’t know how he knew.

He squinted, and the letters on the yellowed page seemed to glow and lift from their positions on the paper. Then they swapped places without him having to put any effort into moving them at all. They did automatically, spelling out a message he could read with incredible ease.

“There is only one.   
It was prophesised that a demon would grow tired of its usual toys and create another, which would be conflicted in its every thought, eventually leading to either self-destruction or the destruction of the universe.  
This toy, as it is referred to, is to be a humanoid mechanical being and it is likely that, during the process of creating it, the demon will unintentionally transfer a fraction of its powers into the mechanical being.  
According to the prophesy, this being will be forced to make a decision which will decide the fate of our world. Either it will side with demon, leading to the annihilation of everyone and everything we know and love, or it will choose to save us.” 

And then, write at the bottom of the page, it said:

“I titled this page “Living Marionettes”, but in reality there will only ever be one.”


	4. Broken

The pain in Dipper’s right arm had gone completely, leaving a throbbing headache in its wake. He’d spent the last two days desperately trying to understand himself - even more so than he usually did - and had so far come up with nothing, haunted by the alleged prophesy and Ford’s sudden coldness towards him, as well as his confusion as to how a supposedly broken arm could heal itself in no more than a couple of days. He kept it all to himself, becoming increasingly quiet around Mabel and the rest of his family. 

Bill had stayed away from him since the day he’d broken his arm, but that was about to change. He knew it was too good to be true, and as he noticed the colours fading from the world around him - the grass beneath his feet becoming grey and the blue sky above evaporating into a plain expanse of white - he groaned internally, realising what was happening immediately. He slammed the journal shut and tossed it onto the grass beside him, looking up expectantly as a flash of white light announced the demon’s arrival.

“Haven’t seen you out here for a while, kid,” Bill reflected, floating down to his level. “I see your arm’s stopped troubling you,” he mused, earning an irritated frown from Dipper.

“What do you want?” Dipper snapped angrily, glaring at him coldly. He was miserable enough as it was, without being treated as the demon’s personal plaything. He wasn’t his toy. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t going to be something for the demon to mess with whenever he felt like it. That wasn’t how it was meant to be. Part of him wished Bill would just disappear and leave him - and all those he cared about - alone forever, but there was another part of him that craved the excitement and danger he only seemed to get when he was with Bill. As always, he was conflicted.

Bill gave an amused titter. “A couple of things, actually, Pine Tree. First of all, isn’t old Six Fingers being incredibly rude of late?” Dipper’s eyes narrowed. He was right, of course, but he didn’t like Bill bringing it up. Ford was his uncle. He had nothing to do with Bill - anymore, at least - and what annoyed him even more was knowing that he was being used as a weapon in the feud between the demon and his uncle. “Well, if you’re not going answer…” Bill muttered, clearly displeased by his silence, and trailed off. “You know what, kid,” he suddenly perked up, inciting Dipper’s interest. “I want to make another deal with you. A more… permanent one, this time.”

Things were just getting worse and worse. Sending an enraged glare in the demon’s direction, Dipper turned away and refused to look at him, unfortunately prompting the demon to magically duplicate himself so that a ring of identical versions of himself were surrounding him, trapping him inside a never-ending circle of infuriating magic. Dipper had only ever felt as helpless as he felt now once before - when Bill had stolen his body - and he had no desire whatsoever to relive that experience. But he felt so broken already that he took one look at his golden prison and instantly gave in, hating himself for it but feeling that he had no choice.

Fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall from the corners of his eyes, he let himself drop to the ground, curling up next to the journal, and lifted up his head to gaze warily at the demon who had by this point magically erased the copies off himself from existence. “Finally willing to play ball, Pine Tree?” Dipper didn’t reply. He simply kept his gaze trained on the demon in front of him, hands balled into fists and teeth bared, eliciting a hostile laugh from Bill. 

“As I was saying, I’m willing to make a proposal - it’ll really help you, you know, kid. I propose an arrangement that will prevent you from feeling any pain or discomfort whatsoever.” Dipper raised a cautious eyebrow but kept himself quiet, genuinely interested - albeit circumspect - in the deal Bill was offering to make. “Intrigued? Well, all you have to do is agree to give up your body whenever you’re about to feel either of those feelings. Understand, Pine Tree?”

Dipper was tempted to refuse his offer outright. It seemed like the sensible thing to do, especially given his earlier experience when it came to making deals with the demon. He’d trick him again; he was almost sure of it - almost. The only other time he’d made a deal with him, he’d thought he was going to be giving away one of Mabel’s sock puppets and ended up condemned to what he thought was going to be a lifetime as a ghost, having given up his body to the demon. It actually only lasted for a short while, but it was a horrific ordeal nonetheless.

“Why would I be trying to trick you?” the demon laughed - almost suspiciously - clearly having read his mind. “You know me, kid, pain is the greatest feeling any being lucky enough to have a physical existence can experience, yet you seem to dislike it. Let me deal with it. We’ll both be getting what we want. Oh, and don’t worry,” he added after a moment’s pause. “Your body won’t be damaged.”

It was too much for Dipper to cope with. There was so much he didn’t understand about himself already, and now this? It must have been Bill’s new favourite method of torturing him, he told himself. How could he be so certain his body wouldn’t be damaged? How could he possibly know his body wouldn’t be destroyed as soon as he gave it up? Bill wasn’t to be trusted. The deal sounded so good - too good - that it couldn’t possibly be genuine. He shook his head, bluntly turning down the deal, though his hesitation and uncertainty were obvious. If it had been anyone but Bill, he probably would have said yes.

Bill didn’t look overly enthused by his refusal but managed to keep his anger and frustration to himself, muttering a rather gentle “Fine, kid” before moving on almost immediately. “Suit yourself,” he shrugged, and the suddenly swooped down to startle the young brunet. Dipper jumped and jerked his head away from him, glowering at the demon as he slowed to a gradual approach. “That’s not all I came here for.”

“Oh?” Dipper stood up and took a few careful steps backwards, disapproving of the glimmer in the demon’s eye.

Holding out his hand - thankfully the blue flame signifying the making of a deal wasn’t there - Bill approached him again and told him to take it, because apparently they were going somewhere. Instinctively shaking his head and running (albeit slowly because he did so backwards in attempt to keep his gaze fixed on the demon chasing after him) towards the Mystery Shack. He lunged at the door handle, ready to grab it and fling himself into the building without any regard for his own safety - his mind completely focused on getting away from Bill Cipher - and unfortunately in doing so left himself vulnerable to the demon’s magic. If he’d been cleverer about it and used his wit to convince the demon to leave him alone, at least for a little while, the events which followed may never have transpired.

With a disapproving groan, Bill clicked his fingers and a flash of blinding light surrounded both him and Dipper, forcing the brunet to shut his eyes. When opened them again, he found that they were no longer outside the Mystery Shack but in the forest surrounding it, standing (and hovering) next to the tree he’d attempted to climb only a couple of days previously. He instinctively grabbed at his shoulder, expecting to feel the strap of his backpack beneath his fingertips, only to stare at his empty hand in sudden realisation; he hadn’t brought it with him. And then it hit him. The journal - journal number three - which he’d been reading when Bill had come to see him, had been left behind.

He turned to glower at the demon, suspicious of him - and not to mention panicked at the idea of leaving his precious journal behind and unprotected, particularly as he knew of Ford’s desperation to get his hands on it - who had now moved so that he was hovering at the foot of the tree. “Climb it,” he ordered, pointing upwards. “I won’t let you fall. Trust me.” After a moment of silence, when Dipper didn’t move from his spot, he groaned again. “Look, Pine Tree, your mind’s already broken. I’m not going to let anything happen to that body of yours now, am I?”

What Dipper wanted to say was that he couldn’t, that all he wanted was to get back to the Mystery Shack and to be left alone, for the demon to never contact him again, because of cause he wasn’t going to trust him. It was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard of - much more so than any of the creatures he’d read about in the journals - and he’d thank god if he never set eyes on the demon again. And yet what he actually did was say nothing at all and simply walk passed him, place his hands on two low branches and pull himself up, doing precisely what he’d been told to do.

It was as if he’d been possessed - though he knew from experience that wasn’t what was happening to him. His body didn’t seem to be his own anymore. It did exactly what it wanted to, somehow choosing the perfect nooks to jam his feet into and the ideal branches for his hands to grip in order to allow him to climb the tree with incredible ease. At no point did he feel in danger of slipping. He felt completely safe knowing Bill was watching him and started to really believe he wouldn’t let anything happen to him. He reached the top of the tree in no time and began his descent, which went just as smoothly as the climb.

He would have been elated, if only he wasn’t so afraid he’d lost the journal forever.


	5. Hell

He spent hours searching for that journal. He’d hoped Bill would help him look for it but he disappeared shortly after he realised it was missing, arousing Dipper’s suspicions immediately. But Dipper had no way of proving that the demon had anything to do with it - not really, other than that he had been the reason he’d left it behind. He was left to make his own way back to the Mystery Shack and while that wasn’t a particularly difficult task, he was somewhat unnerved by the knowledge that the last time he’d taken that path he’d been unconscious nearly the entire time.

Eventually, he enlisted in Mabel’s help. It was almost dinner time when he took to one side and explained that Bill had spoken to him but that their encounter wasn’t what was bothering, but rather the fact that he’d left his journal on the ground outside the Mystery Shack and that it had gone by the time he’d come back. He’d asked her earlier if she’d seen the journal but hadn’t explained why he was asking about it so frantically. She said she hadn’t. Now they’d split up and while she went off with Stan and Soos to look for it in the town centre - if it could even be called that, considering how small the town itself really was - he stayed behind and searched the Mystery Shack again (as well as the forest, in case it had somehow wound up there) with only Grunkle Ford for company.

Ford, of course, stayed within the confinements of the basement as if it were his prison as he always did. Sometimes Dipper found himself questioning whether he was really down there by choice - seeing as he and Stan didn’t exactly get along with each other - but then he realised that he was probably used to being on his own after spending the last three decades trapped between worlds, as far as he knew without any company to speak of. After searching for hours and having no luck, Dipper finally ventured into the basement, but not without being given an incentive from Bill.

He appeared to him very briefly, vanishing after just a moment, but what he did - or rather, said - while he was there was what led him to find the journal… and make one of the biggest mistakes of his life. Hinting that he knew where the journal was, the demon suggested that he went and talked to “Six Fingers”, as he referred to him. And so, having already exhausted all his other options, Dipper did as he suggested, only to find that his uncle was being just as cold to him as ever.

“You still complaining about that arm of yours?” he grunted when he saw his nephew standing in the doorway. Dipper shook his head and looked at the floor (his arm hadn’t hurt for days), suddenly finding a speck of dirt nearby much more fascinating than what he’d gone there to look for. “Then what?” his uncle snapped, then adding, “I haven’t got all day.”

Taken aback by his uncle’s stabbing coldness, Dipper stood there - stunned - for a moment before stuttering out an answer. “I… um… I was looking for…”

Ford cut him off before he could finish. “Whatever it is, I don’t have it,” he barked, gesturing for his nephew to leave. His obvious agitation was enough to arouse Dipper’s suspicions - especially as what had gone missing was exactly the object his uncle had been desperately trying to get away from him - but he turned away obediently nonetheless, and that’s when he saw it out the corner of his eye. The journal. Journal number three. The original, not one of the photocopies. The one he’d found on his own in the woods that day. The one that started it all. It was lying on Ford’s desk, most of it buried under various other books and sheets of paper, but it was definitely it.

Still, it wasn’t like he could run over and grab it off him. After all, Ford was the original author. It belonged to him. Taking it back without permission - and he was sure he wouldn’t get permission - would be stealing. And so he turned and left without a word, confused and angry - even somewhat afraid - as he headed up to his room, acutely aware that his uncle may have realised he’d noticed the journal lying on his desk. All he wanted was some answers, but as he wasn’t going to get them any time soon (and not without his sister by his side the whole time), he decided to try and relax instead. Unfortunately, the universe - and Bill Cipher - seemed to be working against him.

He trudged into the attic to find the demon floating cross-legged above his bed, his single eye squinting into what he could only describe as a grin as the boy walked in. “Good to see you again, Pine Tree,” he laughed as he watched him traipse towards the bed and sit down on the floor next to it with his knees hugged to his chest. “Wow, you don’t look too happy. Trouble in paradise?”

“You’ve been here a lot lately,” Dipper muttered ruefully, ignoring his question completely.

“Just looking out for you, kid,” the demon replied in an annoying calm tone. “Don’t you think it’s strange that your uncle would steal something from you and then lie about it, even though it was obvious he’d taken it? You saw it for yourself. He’s the bad guy here, not me,” he asserted, and the worst thing was Dipper was actually starting to believe him. His logic, though he would have called it insane a few weeks earlier, actually made sense. Ford was acting suspicious and it was clear he couldn’t trust him anymore, but that didn’t mean he could trust Bill any more than he already did - not a lot or, to be more precise, not at all.

On the other hand, the deal he had offered him earlier that day had been… almost perfect. They’d both get what they wanted - a pain-free life for him, and as many sordid feelings as humanly possible for Bill. Knowing he was considering it, the demon stuck out his hand towards him, his trademark bright blue flame burning in the palm of his small black hand as it always was when a deal was about to be made. Dipper hesitated, needing more time to think about it, and continued to perform a cost-benefit analysis on the offer. He’d never have to be in pain again and he’d rid himself of any discomfort too. But agreeing to that would also be agreeing to let Bill take over his body at any moment and this deal was forever, not just a one-off occasion.

That’s when Bill interrupted. “I’ll reason with you, kid. You agree to the deal and if you don’t like it, you can quit. Anytime you want.”

That did it. After a moment’s pause, once he’d let the demon’s words sink in, Dipper stretched out his hand and connected with his, the blue flame disappearing once the deal had been officially made.

Their hands were still touching when Bill decided to take his leave, a beam of light flashing as he vanished into nothingness, leaving Dipper to ponder his mistake - if it even was a mistake. It could have been the best decision he’d ever made… maybe, but only if the demon held up his end of the deal and given what had happened last time, he’d pulled some kind of trickery that would only bring pain and anguish to him. Still, surely he’d have to let him quit if he really wanted to? Demons must have had rules, just like humans - at least, that’s what Dipper told himself.

When Mabel returned with Stan and Soos a little while later, she apologised profusely for not being able to find the journal but Dipper interrupted her halfway through to explain that he already knew where it was. Naturally, her immediate reaction was to assume that he’d retrieved it without her help. “Actually,” he cut her off, catching her attention. “It’s in the basement. Ford has it. I left it there… I mean, it is his, right? I can’t just go in and take it back, even if he is acting… weird.” Thankfully, she seemed to agree with him; he’d been slightly worried that she’d barge in on their uncle and try and snatch the journal back which, as far as he was concerned, would only end in disaster.

Ford acted even stranger that evening when Stan - rather surprisingly - invited him to eat dinner with the rest of them. None of them seemed especially happy about it but he sat with them while they ate nonetheless, although he kept himself to himself and only spoke when someone spoke to him - even then, he kept his answers as short as possible, unwilling to let slip any information he didn’t think they needed to know. As soon as he’d finished eating - before anyone else had - he pushed his chair back from the table and retired to the basement, prompting an unintelligible utterance about his reclusive twin brother from Stan.

The other three stayed up late, Stan sat in his chair with a can of beer in his hand, the twins on the floor beside him, and all three of them with their eyes glued to the television screen. Dipper didn’t want to sleep and Mabel could sense it. Bill had been turning up so often recently and there was no way of knowing how many more times he planned on bursting into his life. Sleeping - dreaming - would be a fearful activity from then on, now that he knew the demon could and probably would take every chance he had to make his life a living Hell.

How he ended up in his bed was a complete mystery to him. He had no memory of walking up to the attic, or even brushing his teeth, and he didn’t remember falling asleep either. But he had and he woke up still dressed in his clothes. It was dark outside but instead of going back to sleep, he climbed out of bed and staggered towards the door, making his way down to the bathroom to brush his teeth seeing as he couldn’t remember doing it. Except that he never reached the bathroom or even the bottom of the stairs before he tripped, resulting in him stumbling down the wooden staircase and…

And nothing. He should have crashed his head into the floor at the bottom the stairs but he didn’t. He was thrown out of his body before he had the chance to hit the floor, flying up towards the ceiling instead. And then he stared down at what used to belong to him - a golden-eyed version of himself with a wicked grin and a malicious gaze.


	6. Lost Souls

At least the pain that should have surged through his body wasn’t there. Or rather, it was, but Dipper simply couldn’t feel it, having been thrown out of his body and a demon having taken his place. He gritted his teeth and balled his hands up into fists as he watched himself sit up and rub the back of his head, grinning at the stinging sensation that came with the crash. His hair was matted with blood as it oozed out of the gash his fall had resulted in and the demon stared down at the hand that was now his, smeared with blood now that he’d wiped it over the injury at the back of his head, and inspected it closely.

His grin widened and his golden eyes lit up with curiosity. Bringing the hand closer to his face, he watched as the crimson liquid trickled across his palm and onto the wooden floor below. Then, without wasting any more time, he brought his hand up to his lips, leaned down and licked at the blood. He reminded Dipper of a disturbed, demented child. Children explored the world with their mouths, after all, and that’s exactly what Bill was doing - except that it wasn’t his own mouth he was exploring it with.

Once he had licked his hand clean, swallowing down every drop of the dark red liquid with a grimace, the demon looked up at Dipper’s translucent form and his Cheshire cat-like grin returned. “It tastes…” he trailed off as he struggled to find a suitable word to describe the taste he was experiencing, leading Dipper to believe he had no choice but find it for him.

“Metallic,” he finished for him and Bill nodded so enthusiastically that Dipper was afraid he was about to break his neck. 

But what really worried him, other than the uncertainty of whether he was ever going to get his body back, was how little the demon seemed to know about the human body. If he really saw everything, then surely he’d seen people get injured millions of times and that being said, he should also have known that injuries needed treating. And yet Bill just sat there on the floor, his - or rather, Dipper’s - lips curled up into a sadistic smile as he watched the blood dribble from onto the floor and pool together in a small crimson puddle.

“Don’t worry, Pine Tree. This body” - he held up his arms as he spoke, gesturing to the body he was currently possessing - “is just as durable as it needs to be - I made sure of it. Besides, why do you think I came to you about this?” 

Dipper blinked at him. He hadn’t considered why he’d chosen him of all people, and that was mainly because he’d believed he wasn’t the only person Bill had approached on the subject. But if he’d had to give an answer, it would have been that he thought he wanted to make his life a living hell and this was one of the best ways to do it - aside from doing something horrible to Mabel or forcing him to endure nightmare after nightmare while he slept.

“I’ll tell you why,” Bill went on, looking up from the floor and fixing his gaze on the translucent form floating above him. “Why would I bother going through all the trouble of finding a suitable body to possess and manipulating that mortal into giving it to me if it’s only going to last a few lousy beatings? Yours is perfect,” he added, causing Dipper to blush slightly even though the compliment wasn’t exactly orthodox. “It’s comfortable,” the demon continued, standing up and examining the body in a nearby mirror. “And it can take a good beating without dying on me.”

The noise that left Dipper’s throat then in response was something in between a growl and a groan. He folded his arms across his chest and floated closer to the body that had once been his, watching as the demon possessing it stood staring at his reflection, his hands roughly grabbing hold of each part of his body and abusing them. He clawed at his arms and watched the skin go red, blood rushing to the surface but never being liberated so as to seep out. He chewed violently on his lower lip, the familiar metallic taste flooding his mouth.

“You’ve had your fun,” Dipper snapped at him, just as angry with himself as he was with Bill; this wouldn’t have been happening if it hadn’t been for his own foolishness. “Now get out.” That deal had sounded too good to be true and it was just that. Not true. He wasn’t getting his body back again this time. Bill would keep on abusing it until either one of two things happened: he was forced out of it (this was the option Dipper preferred most) or he abused his body so much that it broke down completely, damaged beyond repair and died, leaving Dipper with no body to go back to.

Bill threw his head back and laughed, clearly aiming his spiteful laughter at him. “Oh kid, I’m just getting started.” He paused for a moment, straightening up his back and letting their eyes meet. “Don’t worry, Pine Tree. You’ll get your body back eventually.”

Eventually. The word echoed in Dipper’s mind. Eventually didn’t mean soon.

He followed his body to the bathroom and kept his gaze trained on Bill, keeping a close eye on what he was doing in case he needed to intervene - not that he knew that trying to intervene would get him anywhere even if he needed it to. For all he knew, he could have had a concussion. He’d fallen down a flight of stairs and hit his head off the corner of a wall for God’s sake! He could have been seriously injured and all Bill was concerned about was making sure his body suffered through even more!

As if to prove his point, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a loud, agonised yelp and he whirled round to find his body kneeling on the tiled floor underneath the sink, his head repeatedly banging against the porcelain with a whimper escaping his lips every time his skull became just that bit more damaged. Dipper shouted at him to stop but the demon only laughed in his face, banging his head against the sink even harder than before. Lowering himself to the floor, Dipper lunged at him, trying to pin him to floor and hold him still - because maybe then he’d be able to force him out of his body. He should have known better. He went right through him and nearly ended up back downstairs by going through the floor.

But he managed to steady himself and by this point his body was propped up against the bath, his golden eyes fixated on his hands. Just seeing his own body like this - in such a manic, helpless state - was bad enough for Dipper, but then the demon started pulling off his clothes and he suddenly felt a desperate need to interfere. He waved his arms at him and screamed, succeeding in attracting his attention but only for a brief moment before the demon went back to tearing off his clothes until he was left wearing nothing but his underwear.

Dipper felt a pang of embarrassment when he saw himself laying there on the cold bathroom floor with his scratched arms and bruised legs exposed, but it was even worse when the demon shivered against the coolness of the bathroom tiles and writhed on the floor, his body overcome with a sudden discomfort. 

He knew he must have been cold. The bathroom was always cold, even though it was summertime. “Just stand up,” Dipper advised, referring to the coolness of the tiled floor his body was laying on. “Then you won’t feel so cold,” he added as an explanation, though he questioned himself on why he was helping the demon. It made sense, in the end, he decided. If he did ever get his body back, he wanted it in the best condition Bill would allow it in be in and refusing to help him would just be cutting off his nose to spite his face.

Looking down at the demon possessing his body, he realised how lost the demon appeared to be. He’d waited all this time to get a hold of his body again, to feel something again - pain, presumably (after all, it was, in his own words, hilarious) - and now that he’d achieved his goal he was just sat there, cold and dissatisfied, not knowing what to do with himself. He could do anything in the world but he was settling for nothing. The only word Dipper could think of to describe him was lost.

Bill stared up at him and his face twitched. Then he shook his head as if answering a question that had never been asked and spoke, breaking the tense silence between them. “It’s not that. I’m not… cold, I think.” Dipper frowned at him and moved slightly closer, confused, intrigued and almost concerned. It shouldn’t have been surprising that he was unaware of most physical sensations. Pain he knew about and perhaps it was all he knew - how to inflict it and how to feel it. “I’m having… impulses. And I don’t like wearing those,” he added, gesturing to the pile of clothes now scattered next to him on the floor.

There was a moment’s pause and Dipper opened his mouth to respond but before he could choke out a single syllable, his body’s hand flew up to his throat and wrapped itself around the base of his neck. Then his other hand joined it and they both started squeezing, cutting off part of his body’s oxygen supply Bill simply lay back and grinned up at him, apparently relaxed and enjoying every second of it.

Acting entirely on instinct, Dipper flung himself forwards and - despite being aware that any attempts to prevent the demon from further mutilating his body would be futile - he still tried to reach out and rip his body’s arms away from his throat. If he had not done so, he would have considered himself remiss. But his attempts to protect his own body from harm went ignored by the demon who was arching his back, his legs quivering slightly as his hands clamped around his throat, further restricting the amount of oxygen allowed into his lungs.

He let out a soft, disconcerted moan and gazed up at the hovering translucent form with those helpless golden eyes. “Pine Tree…” His voice came out as a choked gasp and his words were almost completely incoherent. Dipper waited patiently for him to try and speak to him again but found instead that the hands around his body’s throat tightened their grip, eliciting a sharp gasp from Bill as his body slid further onto the floor.

“Just stop that for a second and talk to me!” Dipper wound up shouting, his harsh tone of voice finally grabbing the demon’s attention and although it was clearly difficult for him to fight off the temptation, Bill managed to tear his hands away from his body’s throat for a short while.

“I… You have to help, kid. I don’t know what this is.” Dipper stared at him for a moment, taken aback by his admittance that there was something in the universe he didn’t understand, but then quickly realised that if anything was in danger, it was his body and it was up to him to ensure his own body’s safety, even when Bill was in control of it. “I feel strange.”

He was strange and Dipper had to bite his lip to force himself not to tell him that. He needed to get onto Bill’s good side, if he even had a good side. “Tell me what you feel,” he sighed after a moment, examining the demon and his body carefully.

Bill shook his head but answered anyway, his voice muffled by his heavy breathing. “I don’t know… Here.” His hand flew to the waistband of his underwear and Dipper gritted his teeth, closing his eyes for a moment, mortified, in attempt to calm himself down. It was evident once he mentioned it, he noted. But it was also clear that such a feeling was something the demon had never experienced and the look of confusion and wonder in his eyes was testament to that. “What?” he asked, sounding more intrigued than angry. “You know about it. I know you do. I’ve seen you… Oh.” He paused and their eyes met.

Surely by now, by this point, he was ready to give his body up? Lowering his gaze to the floor, Dipper ran it all through his mind, knowing full well that the demon would be reading his thoughts, and picked out the reasons why he should be given his body back. The discomfort he was feeling now was one that could be remedied with pleasure, and that hadn’t been part of the deal. As well as that, so much confusion couldn’t have been pleasant for the demon and - even though Dipper would have been lying if he’d said he’d felt sorry for him - it must have been worrying and possibly even fearing-inducing to feel so much pressure all at once for the first time.

While he thought that he’d made his point well enough to convince Bill to allow him to return from the mindscape and regain his physical form, the demon seemed to disagree. “Come on, kid. You don’t really think I’d give up this chance to experience something like this, do you? You seemed to enjoy it the last time and, since you know so much about it, you’re going to have to tell me how to do it.” Dipper hovered in the air for at least thirty seconds, staring down at the body that used to be his. He didn’t have much of a choice. Bill’s discomfort wasn’t going to go away anytime soon unless he told him how to get rid of it but, on the other hand, he wasn’t sure he could cope with the embarrassment. “Hurry up, kid,” Bill snapped at him, shivering under his own touch as he slipped his hand further into his underwear.

He arched his back and let out a moan, deeper and more frustrated this time, and Dipper felt his cheeks heat up as his blush intensified. He must have known what to do, he told himself as he turned away so as not to be tempted to watch. Listening, though, was a different matter. It didn’t help when he covered his ears with his hands or even when he tried to drown out the demon’s moans with his own voice. If he’d seen him do it before, Dipper reflected as focused on inspecting the floor even though it was exceptionally boring, then he must have known how to relieve himself of the tension that seemed to be driving him even madder than he already was.

He turned around purely out of curiosity and an inability to control his own compulsions to find that his underwear had been pushed down and was pooling at his ankles, his hand wrapped around the base of his now exposed dick while the other clawed at his neck. From the look on the demon’s - or his own - face, he couldn’t tell whether he was enjoying it or not. He guessed that he was, however, based on the moans and gasps that were emanating from his lips.

“Make it stop, kid,” the demon whined, his whole body trembling as his breaths suddenly grew even heavier.

“I can’t,” Dipper protested, turning to face him properly. “I can’t do anything, can I? It’ll only stop when you give my body back to me or…” Their eyes met and Bill held his gaze. That was all it took to convince Dipper to give in and advise him on what to do to ensure it was all over as quickly as possible. “Move your hand…” He trailed off and blushed, struggling to find the best way to explain it. “Stroke it… hard. And move your hips. That’ll make it feel better.”

Bill frowned but she did as he told him, both hands squeezing harder around his cock and his throat, strangling himself and stopping his moans from being quite so audible. What Dipper doesn’t understand was why he felt the need to strangle himself at the same time or why he’d only become aroused once he’d started to do so. Then again, he’d never tried that before. The thought had never entered his head until now. Was it to do with Bill’s disturbed mentality or was it something his own body found pleasurable?

It was hard to ignore when the demon came, the obnoxiously loud sounds of his orgasm violently attacking his senses as he attempted to concentrate on anything other than him. When he looked back at his own body he saw the demon lying on the floor, convulsing slightly, the hand that had been wrapped around his neck having now been dropped to his side while the other still held onto his dick. His breaths were quieter now but still stifled and quivering, a look of peace and bliss on his face as his eyes closed automatically.

“Bill? Bill!” Dipper practically screamed, aware that no-one but the demon could hear him - if even that, considering the fact that the demon appeared to be asleep. But his eyes flew open and he sat up, gazing up at the translucent form questioningly. “Can I, uh, have my body back now… please?” he added begrudgingly.

The look in Bill’s eyes as he gazed up at him made Dipper consider how lost and alone he really was - but only for a split second. This was the demon who was making his life a misery and any sympathy he had for him suddenly vanished into a flame of hate and anger. But Bill gave in surprisingly quickly - now that he’d had his fun, he supposed - and returned to the mindscape without putting up too much a fight, allowing Dipper to return to his body and leave behind his short-lived life as a lost soul with the hopes that he’d never have to go back to it.


	7. Die in a Fire

His body really was durable. He’d never taken much notice of it until he came to Gravity Falls and wound up breaking his arm though. While it was true that nearly all children had their fair share of accidents - be it whilst learning to ride a bike or tripping over their own feet whilst walking or running - Dipper had definitely not been one of those. He and Mabel had both always been clumsy enough to trip over for no apparent reason more often than they would have liked to admit, but for Dipper any injuries he sustained during his childhood were limited to just that. He’d always preferred staying in and reading or doing schoolwork to running around outside or participating in sports, so up until now he’d never noticed how well his body was able to heal itself or how much damage it could take.

Bill had certainly put his body to the test - as well as his nerves. Now that the demon had gone, he lay there panting on the cold bathroom floor, half-ashamed and half-annoyed (ashamed that, even though he hadn’t understood it, Bill had experienced his body in an aroused state and annoyed that he hadn’t been the one to experience it, feeling like the demon had stolen something from him).

But the sounds of approaching footsteps and shouts from Grunkle Stan made him realise he had no time to waste. As if he wasn’t already embarrassed enough, being seen by his great uncle lying about on the bathroom floor covered in a repulsive mixture of blood and cum with the lower half of his body exposed would be mortifying. So in a hurry, he pushed himself up off the tiled floor and re-adjusted his clothes in a desperate attempt to make himself look presentable. Snatching a damp cloth from the bath, he scrubbed at the floor and succeeded in cleaning it all up before Stan walked in on him - but only just.

Blood was still dripping from his arms and hands when Stan knocked on the door and walking in without waiting for a response and, as he turned towards the door and happened to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, Dipper saw that a mark - dark red in colour and ominous - was beginning to appear on his throat, where his hand (or Bill’s) had been clawing at him. And it hurt like hell. Everything did. His neck, his arms, his legs… It all hurt. Just because his body was capable of taking great deal of damage, it didn’t mean he didn’t feel any pain. His stomach flipped when he saw his reflection and he realised just how broken he looked. Hopefully, Stan wouldn’t notice.

He did. It was the first thing he mentioned. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked in his usual way of making everything he said sound like a groan. This meant that Dipper had to think on his feet because, as much as he wanted to confide in someone about the torturous way in which Bill was treating him, there was no way he could tell Stan what had happened.

Luckily, he was practised in the art of fast thinking and considered himself an expert in it. “I… uh… I fell down the stairs - just halfway down, nothing too serious,” he added, hiding his hands behind his back with the hopes that Stan hadn’t seen all the blood yet. The moment he said it, he was sure it wouldn’t work - that Stan would see right through him and he’d be branded as a liar. But it did and, technically, he wasn’t lying. He had fallen down the stairs. That just wasn’t the cause of all his injuries. Bill was.

Stan raised an eyebrow at him in suspicion. “You sure this doesn’t have anything to do with that demon Ford’s always talking about?” After a brief moment of hesitation, Dipper nodded eagerly and Stan seemed to buy into his act. But just as Dipper passed him, turning to leave, Stan added, “If you do see that monster around, talk to one of us about it, alright? It doesn’t have to be me or Ford - just talk to someone.” Pushing aside his guilt, Dipper nodded again and trudged out of the room, heading downstairs to the kitchen.

Ignoring his twin, who was sitting at the kitchen table when he arrived, he headed straight for the sink and swiped a cloth from the worktop, holding it under the tap as he ran the warm water until it was drenched before squeezing it and then pressing it against his skin, mopping up the blood that was still pouring from his open wounds. Of course, Mabel noticed immediately and questioned him on it. Even if he could no longer trust Ford, he could still trust Mabel, couldn’t he? He’d always be able to trust her. So he decided to tell her the truth - not the whole truth, not about what had happened to his body whilst Bill had been possessing it, but most of it.

“It was Bill,” he replied, not looking her in the eye. He had by this point succeeded in cleaning up his arms and was holding the cloth against the back of his head, where his hair was matted with thick pools of blood. He hoped Stan hadn’t seen it when he’d left the bathroom but, seeing as he hadn’t mentioned it, he guessed he hadn’t. “He took over my body when I fell down the stairs and then, you know, basically mutilated it.”

“But he’s gone now, right?” As Dipper nodded in affirmation that the demon that had damaged his body so purposefully and so intentionally was in fact gone, he reflected that he hadn’t seen his sister look anywhere near as worried as she did now except for when he’d broken his arm. This was worse. Breaking his arm had been a painful, embarrassing, and confusing (in relation to Ford’s treatment of him) experience, but this was far worse. This involved Bill.

He had foolishly put his faith in someone who had only proven to be deceitful - again. Ford breaking his trust had been a harsher blow to his confidence and stability but Bill had kicked him while he was down. But the look of concern on his twin’s face convinced him that she would never be so disloyal.

And now, he had to depend on her to ensure his safety - as much as he wished it to be the other way round. As far as he was concerned, he should have been the one protecting her. But right now he was barely able to look after himself. His wounds had stopped bleeding but it still hurt all over. He knew his body was stronger than most - or if he were to believe that Bill really had somehow altered his genetic make-up, stronger than anyone else’s in the entire world - but he couldn’t think about that at all right then. At that moment, as he was overcome with a sudden wave of exhaustion, all he wanted was to sleep.

He didn’t even make it back upstairs to the attic. Without bothering to eat any breakfast first, he traipsed into the living room, curled up in Stan’s chair and closed his eyes. Sleep came abnormally quickly.

He’d been asleep for nearly an hour by the time his worst nightmare confronted him. In this dream, he found himself waist-deep in a dark red liquid that reeked of death and blood. Unfortunately for him, there was no shore in sight. Surrounding him was a black expanse of sky. The red, bloody water was illuminated by the moonlight streaming down from above and nothing else. But next to the silver crescent moon lighting up the sky was the nightmare Dipper dreaded the most: Bill Cipher.

He shook his head, willing himself to wake up but nothing happened and the demon’s smile only widened, his eye squinting into a wicked grin and glowing red with anger as Dipper refused to acknowledge him. By now, Dipper had turned his back on him and was facing the other way, closing his eyes in attempt to drive the demon out of his dreamscape. It didn’t work. He hadn’t expected it to but he had hoped that it would.

“Come on, Pine Tree. You know better than that,” Bill practically screeched, his shrill voice slicing through the air and infiltrating his senses as he floated closer, hovering in front of him and forcing him to recognise his presence. “Now just admit defeat,” the demon advised, crossing his arms and lowering himself to the brunet’s level now that he had obtained Dipper’s attention. He smiled again at the look of confusion on the boy’s face. “It’s the easiest way, kid. Just admit that you can’t handle me taking over your body anymore. Doesn’t it hurt too much?” he taunted.

Dipper immediately went back to ignoring him. He didn’t turn away this time, but instead simply kept his eyes shut and repeated the same three words under his breath: “Please wake up.”

But all that did was elicit a harsh, piercing laugh from Bill Cipher. “It’s no use, kid. It won’t work. The best thing you can do now is pay attention and listen to me.” For a moment, his entire body flashed a deep scarlet before he laughed off his anger and managed to relax. “Really, Pine Tree, I’m here to help you. And anyway, am I really that hard to be around? You’re not in any pain here, so why are you so desperate to wake up?”

That made him think. He hadn’t realised up until that point that the pain had disappeared from his body and for a brief moment he was actually thankful - until he remembered that as long as he stayed asleep, he’d be stuck there in a pool of what he was assuming to be blood with Bill Cipher. “Just go, please. Leave me alone.” Bill didn’t leave so he tried another angle. “I quit. No deal. Keep away from me and my body. You broke it anyway! You lied! I was in agony after you left!”

“So what you’re saying is…” Bill interjected, looking thoughtful as he leaned against the golden cane that had appeared in his hand. “You wish I hadn’t left.”

“No! That’s not what I mean at all…” Dipper trailed off when he realised that Bill was no longer listening to him and was instead examining the air around him, looking somewhat puzzled. 

“Do you smell that?” the demon asked, prompting the brunet to sniff the air. There was… something. Something even worse than the stench of death and hate that the pool he was standing in was emitting. “It smells like… fire,” Bill grinned at him. “Like burning human flesh.”


End file.
